Fragile Titanium
by YourAngelicVampyre
Summary: Everybody has something to lose, whether they're willing to admit or not. As punishment for the nation's sins, children between the ages twelve and eighteen must compete in a brutal battle to the death, vying for irrevocably stained honor and mind-boggling riches. Who knew that even titanium could be fragile? Based on the Hunger Games. AU. RaeRob.
1. Deadly Calculations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Teen Titans, the Justice League, or the Hunger Games, nor any items affiliated with them. This story is just an adaptation of a plot I found interesting and wanted to create a little spin on. Once again, I do not own anything except the twist of the plot within the Hunger Games.

**Warning:** The material in this story is significantly much darker than that within the Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins. The descriptions are much more vivid, along with some sexuality and language. Please read at your own risk.

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An earsplitting scream shattered the stillness, thus acting like a gruesome signal to commence the brutal bloodbath. The girl with the nerve-wrenching scream crumpled to the ground, clutching her bleeding chest. Slowly looking down, she was greeted with the horrific sight of a spear protruding through her torso, her intestines spilling out of the wound, landing on the exposed flesh of her thigh. She wanted to empty her stomach of its contents, but didn't have the strength for it. Already, her energy was quickly sapping up and her essence was already evaporating. With eyes glazing over, the girl fell forward, her face burying into the sinful dirt.

A few feet away, a diminutive boy swiftly ducked to avoid the heavy blows from a carefully sculpted axe that a large, muscular boy named Antonio Diego was wielding. Grunting, he fell to the ground, wincing as he felt locks of his hair cut clean off his head. Sending a feeble kick to his opponent, he watched in horror as he was lifted off the earth, dangling upside down. Tightening his grip, the stronger boy flung the coward at a nearby tree trunk. Seeing stars, the boy hissed in pain. He could already vision his imminent death as clear as day. Sure, he was definitely a weakling compared to the others vying for irrevocably stained honor, but maybe, just maybe, he could have survived if he had been able to escape and hide. Unfortunately, things had been unable to pan out that way, rendering him incapable to assist his cancer stricken mother. Before he could close his eyes, his skull was shattered from the sheer force applied to slamming it into the aged bark of the gnarled yew tree.

Sprinting, a girl was closing in on the cover provided by the dense forest. Before she could reach the minimal protection, however, a boulder was tossed her way, causing her to skid to an ungainly halt. Whirling around, ginger hair whipping her face, she saw a sadistically grinning sixteen year old boy advancing towards her. A memory of him carving scars into the faces attached to punching bags in training slammed into her, making her recall that his name was Jack White. The silver of a knife in his right hand glinted maliciously.

"Well, hello, beautiful," he hooted.

"Please don't kill me," the girl whimpered, almost falling backwards over the stone. She would accomplish nothing by running. He could easily throw that handy knife of his, or the surrounding battling tributes would murder her in cold blood.

"You know, you remind me of somebody I hate. Always a damned sitting duck. Always afraid to take action. Do you know who I'm talking about, deary?"

"Who?" the girl, Vanessa, asked cowardly.

"My father," spat Jack. "And do you know what I did to my father?"

"What?"

"I killed him," Jack simply responded, no emotion visible. "Just like I'm going to kill you."

Finally deciding that fleeing might actually be prudent, Vanessa stumbled backwards, hoping the huge slab of rock would act as a shield. Unfortunately, Jack came bearing down on her with the sharp knife before she could even blink. He carefully sliced her forehead, watching as the scarlet tear-like substance trickled down her olive flesh. Considering his next move, he roughly grabbed her face to stymie her struggling to some degree. Slowly, he ran the blade along the jelly of her left eye, causing an eruption of anguished screams to add to the resonating clanging of fighting.

Elsewhere in the very large arena, a girl with undeniable sex appeal shoved her fellow district tribute and boyfriend of three years to the ground. Before he could really respond, she lowered herself on top of him, straddling his hips. Shocked, his chocolate brown eyes stared up at her previously warm green eyes.

"Don't do this, Carol," he croaked, pleading, especially with his eyes.

Smirking, Carol bent forward, wondering where his interminable will was located right now. After all, if anybody had the will to survive, surely it would be him. She flicked out her tongue, trailing it along his strong jaw, to his luscious lips, up to his straight nose, forming some twisted kiss. Hovering her mouth above his right ear, she whispered hotly, "Happy Birthday, Hal," before plunging the silver blade of her weapon into his heart.

The screen froze, the tape now paused. The paused scene revealed three panels side by side. One third of the screen showed the cruel expression upon Carol's face right after she stabbed Hal right in the heart. On the other hand, an almost gleeful air surrounded Jack as he became a butchering surgeon just for the hell of it. The last third of the screen displayed Antonio holding that small boy by the neck, bone peeking out of the confinement of his largest organ, his skin.

"I remember that Game almost as if it were yesterday," commented a man from the doorway, a remote in hand. "It was the 37th Hunger Games. Twelve games have followed it, but none compare to the cruelty that was dished out, as well as the unquestionable dynamic relationships between the contenders. I will never forget the final three: Carol Ferris, Jack White, and Antonio Diego. How Jack strangled Carol to death in that sick joke of his by modifying a scheme of the Gamemakers to help create an unforgettable ending. How Antonio almost pummeled Jack to death, but wound up dying due to Jack's smarts."

"It's my personal favorite, sir," said Clark Kent, craning his neck around from his position on a luxurious sofa to get a good look at President Luthor.

President Lex Luthor was a very wealthy and puissant man. He was not to be trifled with; otherwise, whatever you did to rile him looked like child's play. It was a fact. He had aristocratic features and a sinister smile to boot. He was bald, which sort of added to his commanding presence. Harsh lines of wrinkles determinedly covered his face, although he could easily receive surgery to remove the bothersome creases. The once shining emerald of his eyes was extremely faded, often devoid of emotion. Every day, he would wear expensively tailored suits, most likely to show that to him you were just a poor bug. To put it simply, Lex Luthor was a very dangerous enemy to have, one that could have you killed in two flat seconds if he truly wanted you dead.

Clark Kent, on the other hand, was practically the poster child (er, man) for youthfulness. Unlike the majority of the Capitol, Clark Kent had never received surgery to alter his appearance. However, he did get a tattoo on his chest of a red S placed within a diamond-like structure. Even though his wife, Lois Lane, wasn't a huge fan of his tattoo, he just had this impulsive need to get it. It just felt as if it somehow described his character. Clark Kent had a very strong jaw and almost inhumanely blue eyes. Unfortunately, the beautifully stunning color was diminished slightly due to the glasses he wore to enhance his vision. His dark hair curled around his face, framing it rather well. In all, Clark Kent was a very handsome man that also happened to be Head Gamemaker.

"Look, Mr. Kent, people are quickly growing bored of watching the Games. If they lose interest, they'll stop watching the Games. If they stop watching the Games, they won't be reminded of who's the one wielding all the power. We can't afford another rebellion. This is your first year as Head Gamemaker. Don't disappoint. It's the Quarter Quell, meaning there will be double the contenders. Make sure the arena's interesting and that it doesn't end too quickly or drag on. Play to the crowd's interests. Make it a memorable year at all costs," President Luthor said, signature scowl showing.

Clark ran his hand through his thick hair. "Don't worry, President Luthor. According to my calculations, it's going to be a magnificent year."

"I certainly hope so. Otherwise, it's your head."

And with those foreboding words lingering in the air, President Luthor exited the room.

**-Meanwhile in District 1-**

Richard Grayson gracefully landed, having just completed a three and a half twist from a set of uneven bars. He had been practicing his gymnastics for an hour or so, honing his acrobatic skills. Without a doubt, he loved gymnastics. Sometimes, though, he loathed it with a burning passion. It never seemed like he could practice the sport for himself. Instead, it was just a part of his training regime.

"Your feet separated shortly after that second twist. You'll need to work on that," observed Richard's adoptive father, Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was a rich man, only second to President Luthor. His business, Wayne Enterprises, produced deluxe paraphernalia, ranging from jewelry, wine, and perfume, as well as gadgets, armor, and weapons. Bruce Wayne adopted Richard a year before meeting his beautiful wife, back when he was still renowned as a billionaire playboy. Thomas Wayne's son had traveled to the Capitol to discuss some matters of importance with President Luthor, whom he secretly loathed. The night before he left in the morning, Bruce went to a festival being held. Performers, whose sole job was to please the rich folks of the Capitol, performed to the best of their ability. While there, an accident happened where two skilled acrobats died, their little boy bearing witness to the event. Reminded of his parents' fate, Bruce took the young boy under his wing.

Richard scowled, turning away from his father figure and retrieving a water bottle. He hated criticism. It often made him feel inferior. Plus, it made him ponder whether or not his father, the actual man that helped bring him into this world, would be proud of him. He hated when this happened because it dredged up so many bittersweet memories.

"Dick, I don't mean to criticize. I only mean to give you advice because if your name gets drawn and you wind up in the arena, the smallest mistake could send you to your grave," Bruce said, sadness enveloping him. When he was Richard's age, his best friend Rachel Dawes was murdered in the Hunger Games. Since then, the Games lost its glory for him.

"You should have left me in the Capitol all those years ago if you would be so worried about my wellbeing," spat Richard.

"Your parents were the ones that watched over you. Since they died, nobody was going to be willing to nurture you. Haly would have shipped you off to your execution had I not intervened," Bruce declared.

"You should have just let him. At least I wouldn't have had to live in this hellhole of a life! I'm sick and tired of always worrying about whether or not I'll die at any given moment!" shouted Richard.

It wasn't a secret to Richard's parents that he thought the honor and glory given to you by claiming the title as a Hunger Games victor was bullshit. Where was the honor in killing people in cold blood? Why would you want to have blood on your hands with families hating you as they mourned? Every day at school, he felt like an anomaly. Sure, there were girls hoping to capture his attention because of his supposedly good looks and greater wealth and guys hoping to get their hands on some of the newest weapons to train, but he felt so alone. They all looked forward to reapings; he dreaded them. They focused more on their athleticism; he focused more on his studies. It seemed that no matter what happened, there would always be a thin line separating him further for those around him. Frankly, these kinds of thoughts scared the hell out of Richard's parents.

Bruce seemed to read his son's mind. "How about a game of basketball?"

Richard took a swig of water before replying, "It's alright. I think I'll help Mom prepare lunch. You never know, it could be our final meal together as a family…. You are staying, right?"

The billionaire hesitated. He had a speech to prepare for before they drew the names today at the reaping. Some quick consideration made him decide to spend the day with his family. After all, he often went to events without speeches planned and his charisma carried him through those. What was one more?

Upon entering their large kitchen, Richard gave his mother a firm hug, which she gladly returned. Diana Wayne, née Prince was a beautiful woman with stunning blue eyes and thick, raven locks that cascaded elegantly down her back. Even without the aid of heels, Diana was a tall woman, only a couple of inches shorter than her husband. Her usually flat stomach was bulging, showing the telltale signs of pregnancy.

"I love you so much," she whispered.

"I love you, too," he murmured back. Little did he know that he might never get the chance to say those words again.

**-Meanwhile in District 2-**

Kori Anders dipped down, avoiding a powerful right hook. Quickly, she twisted her body around to perform an aerial kick. Her opponent retaliated by grabbing hold of Kori's foot and spinning twice, threw her body towards a swing set. Grunting upon impact, Kori quickly recovered and hoisted her body up, standing on the pole parallel to the ground that hung the swings.

Laughing mirthlessly, Kori's assailant followed. Punches and kicks were received, all the while testing their balance. Unfortunately, Kori lost her balance after landing a potent kick on her adversary. Maneuvering her body carefully in what almost looked like flying, Kori landed on a swing, which rattled once her full weight was applied to it.

"Champions don't flee," Kori's foe growled, tumbling down to the ground.

"Who said I was fleeing?" responded Kori.

Waiting for that impeccable moment, Kori twisted away to avoid a punch to her face. Fortunately, her plan worked and wound up with the chains of the swing tangling in her challenger's arms. Stupidly, she stuck around to watch her enemy untangle herself. Hot on her heels, Kori's opponent chased her over to the seesaws. Smashing on the side of a seesaw, Kori watched as the other side slammed up into her pursuer's chin. Leaping up onto the seesaw beside the one she banged, she faced her pissed off adversary.

More blows were exchanged, with constant leaping between the two benches. Kori leaned back, rolling with a punch. Then, she tumbled backwards, kicking her feet up explosively to kick her enemy's face in a powerful combination. Unfortunately, this maneuver was one Kori hadn't mastered and sent her plummeting to the ground, landing painfully on her hip bone. To make matters worse, Kori's rival gracefully hurdled off the seesaw, touching down on Kori's lower abdomen, causing Kori to inhale.

"You besmirch the family name. You're a disgrace. And just to let you know, if your name gets drawn today, I hope you die the most painful death imaginable," spat Koma Anders, nicknamed Blackfire. Giving her sister the coldest of looks, she stalked off, no doubt to prepare for the reaping later today. Kori solemnly watched, an unknown emotion bubbling up within her.

**-Meanwhile in District 3-**

Victor Stone furiously typed away at his computer monitor, inputting all the required information to gain the knowledge of the probability of getting selected to participate in the brutal Hunger Games. It was his final year of having his name thrown into the glass bowls of possible tributes, and frankly, his gut was obstinately telling him that luck wouldn't be on his side. Swallowing the baby vomit that came up, he read the screen, not very pleased with his results.

Victor had an aptitude for computers, which wasn't very surprising considering the district he lived in. Compared to people around his age, however, Victor was a tech wizard. This was how he earned his nickname, Cyborg.

Shutting off the computer, Victor made his way over to his dresser, staring at his reflection. He felt as if a stranger was walking in his body, which was rather odd, considering how he looked exactly the same. He still had those inquisitive brown eyes. His cropped black hair was exactly the same. He still possessed that tall, muscular body of his that seemed so out of place in District 3. But, he wasn't the same Victor Stone. Not even close.

The change didn't take effect immediately, but was gradual. It started last spring, when his mother died from a terrible brain tumor that just wouldn't stop growing. To this day, it still affected him strongly. He was more withdrawn, often found by his grieving father staring at the computer screen with no way of knowing what was going on in the outside world. Late at night, when his father was asleep, he would lie at night and let the angry tears fall. He became more belligerent, his temper always a ticking time bomb. He felt guilty and the guilt was eating him alive.

Feeling so utterly lost, Victor dropped down to his knees. His knees protested at the abrupt motion, but he ignored it. He sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed as he cleared his mind of all the negative emotions, save sadness. Then, he did something he hadn't done in a long time.

He prayed.

**-Meanwhile in District 10-**

Gar Logan was always a mischievous and daring child. He was the class clown that teachers dreaded to have placed in their class. He pulled pranks almost as often as he changed underwear. The most famous stunt he pulled was in the dearly hated class of Mr. Fig. Gar had taken the class pet's food, a parrot named Lucilla, before lunch break. Pretending to go to the bathroom, Gar waited until the classroom was evacuated before dumping a fair amount of bird seed all over the room in unnoticeable areas, such as the cheap, lone ceiling fan and the teacher's briefcase. Ingeniously, he had taken a widget from his good friend Rosabelle Mendez's bookbag and placed it under Mr. Fig's desk, placing bird seed on its wide track. After tossing a screw to Lucilla's cage in the trash can, Gar reported to the lunch. Upon entering the classroom less than half an hour later, Gar "accidentally" released Lucilla after making sure Mr. Fig had been sitting down long enough, as well as turning on the fan. Lucilla went berserk, flying around the room like a madman, dodging the spinning blades of the fan as seeds went spiraling off, and pecking at Mr. Fig's private parts.

Surprisingly, Gar wasn't expelled for his terrible stunt that possibly left the withered teacher castrated.

Despite his flippant, carefree attitude, there was a side of Gar that no one saw other than his mother. He had such a strong connection to animals that it was almost like an affinity. He didn't even eat meat. Whenever there was a wounded animal around, he felt compelled to help them, which he did with absolutely no regrets. Sure, he had some really great friends, but he sometimes felt like they only kept him around for his sense of humor. On the other hand, however, animals weren't jealous, full of hate, or negative emotions. They were kind, loyal creatures that loved to their heart's full capability. He truly considered animals to be his best friends.

Gar hated District 10. He hated the brutality that was shown to animals before they were slaughtered mercilessly. How would those workers feel if someone murdered them and planned on selling them to a crazed butcher? He didn't think they would be gushing with cozy feelings. So, Gar honed his skills of being in places he probably shouldn't be going in.

Dangling upside down like a bat, Gar watched as the workers tried completing a day's work in just a few hours before they showered and attended the reaping. A few grazing animals looked up at Gar, giving him inquisitive looks. Gar nodded assuredly at them before dropping down to the ground catlike after the last worker disappeared, probably to skin alive an innocent creature.

A cow mooed when Gar approached him. Gar silently lifted a finger to his lips as a way of telling the cow to be quiet, which it seemed to understand. He untethered the cow and two sheep and began leading them away from their doom. After crossing thirty feet of land, they almost ran into a Peacekeeper. Biting the inside of his cheek, Gar dodged behind a few trash can bins. The cattle followed his movement, albeit almost suffocating him due to lack of space.

Fortunately, the group of four managed to make it to the small wooded area by Gar's house without another incident. He led the animals through the skinny trees before stopping in front of a surprisingly lush plain in this dry weather. He beckoned forward, hoping they would understand his message to carry on through the plains. They did so, but not before sending startlingly sage looks at the boy that often made rash decisions.

Glumly, Gar turned on his heels, on his way to retreat into his home. He just hoped that he wouldn't be led to his own doom today.

**-Meanwhile in District 12-**

Raven hissed in pain, her head throbbing as she was rattled around like a ragdoll. Roaring, her father, Trigon Skaath, yanked her down to the ground by her hair, tearing out a considerable amount of her raven locks. He jabbed her a few times in her kidneys before scraping his long, neglected nails along the pallid exposed skin on her left leg, drawing blood. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he grabbed hold of the offending leg, twisting it in a very painful and awkward position, threatening to shatter the fragile bones within.

"That's enough," growled a newcomer.

"It's never enough," snarled Trigon.

The newcomer stepped into the room, revealing himself to be Raven's half-brother, Phoenix. Phoenix was nineteen years old, considered a disgrace. Instead of working in the mines, Phoenix was like an apothecary, working to heal the sick or injured of District 12 from the house he shared with Raven and, unfortunately, Trigon. He had been unable to acquire his own house in this poor district. Phoenix was Raven's only friend and despite being such a kind person, he was always set on edge when Trigon was near, his temper set on a short fuse.

Phoenix snapped, "Get away from her, old man." Phoenix's tone was bitingly sharp, just like a knife, if not sharper.

"Shut up, you stupid boy! You bring shame to your family name by being such a pansy!"

"Look, just because Mom went off to who knows where, that doesn't mean you should take it out on her." He jutted his chin towards his motionless sister.

His words were particularly true. Unwanted memories flooded Trigon's mind whenever he laid eyes on his daughter. The resemblance she shared with her missing mother was just uncanny. They possessed the same creamy, pale skin tone, the same startlingly unique amethyst eyes, and the same hair that was black as night. Compared to the appearances of the rest of District 12, Arella Roth and her daughter were strangers. And the bitter, aging man hated how his own flesh and blood resembled the love of his life so damned much.

Trigon shot up, surprising Arella's first born, the father being another man, with his speed. He shoved Phoenix up against the wall, shaking the house. Trigon tightened his grip around Phoenix's neck and lowly uttered, "If she saw you today, she'd be so disappointed." He released Phoenix and sauntered off, no doubt to search for alcohol he could snag.

"Speak for yourself," Phoenix muttered under his breath after regaining his breath.

"As always, your timing is impeccable," Raven got out, painfully trying to sit up.

"Hold still," Phoenix ordered, crouching down beside his sister.

Raven quietly watched as her half-brother tended to her wounds, applying leaves and home remedies to help them heal faster. Fortunately, none of her bones were broken or sprained, but Phoenix advised that she take it easy for a while.

"Thank you," Raven whispered.

By her nature, Raven had always been a recluse, preferring to be on her own than with other people. When she spent time with Phoenix, it was often spent sitting quietly, just enjoying each other's company. Though Raven never told anybody this, the main reason she stayed by herself was because she didn't want to get hurt if she truly felt her emotions. In addition to this, she always had the slightest inkling as to what people were feeling, especially when making eye contact, which she always tried to avoid. It scared the hell out of her.

"That's what siblings are for," Phoenix replied, just as softly.

Raven sat quietly for several minutes, just thinking, but not actually meditating like she often did. She jumped when somebody touched her shoulder, but she relaxed when she saw it was Phoenix holding out a minimal amount of cold bread towards her.

"I'm afraid the tesserae rations are running low," he said, feeling bad that Raven had to enter her name additional times to provide for her family, which went unappreciated for by her father. He paused. "How many times is your name in the reaping this year?"

"Twenty," she muttered.

Phoenix had never had to enter his name more than the required age amount because they had never needed it when Arella was around. Unfortunately, she left the year Raven turned twelve, four years ago. Raven hadn't allowed Phoenix to enter his name more than he needed. Instead, she picked up that mantle, much to his chagrin.

Phoenix sighed, watching as his companion nibbled off the edge of the bread he had given her. When she had finished savoring the stale food item, Phoenix helped her up, leading her over to her lumpy, sad excuse of a bed. He tucked her in, but not before giving her a hug that she surprisingly returned.

"I'll wake you up in an hour so you can get ready," he said. He paused. "Good luck, Rae. And may the odds—"

"—be ever in your favor," Raven weakly finished the pathetic line the Capitol dished out for reapings.

She watched as Phoenix exited the small alcove her room was situated in. She closed her eyes, slowing her breath down so much that someone might believe her to be dead. She began thinking, calmly and collectedly. In the end, she came up with a staggering conclusion. Maybe, just maybe, having her name drawn at the reaping would be a blessing….

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**A/N –** Well, I really hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter and plan on reading what is to come. Let me know what you think, as well as letting me know what other characters you want to see. Please keep in mind that since starting on this project, I am now working on two stories, the other being _Justice League Academy: Obstacles, _so the next update may be delayed. My dearest apologies if this occurs.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Edgy Battles and Inner Turmoil

Shayera Hol was a very impatient woman with a temper to boot. Most people in District 12 tended to avoid her because her company wasn't very pleasant most of the time, which was entirely understandable. Fifteen years ago, she actually managed to win the Hunger Games, but not without consequence. Her method of winning against all odds had angered the Gamemakers, thus making them lash out by murdering her first love, Carter, as well as her parents. While she wasn't an alcoholic, she would drink her sorrows away, particularly around this time of year. In addition to that, even the most miniscule things pissed her off with the thought of sending kids off to their death sentence looming in the forefront of her mind.

According to some stupid legend originating a hundred years or so ago, gingers didn't have souls. Shayera was living proof of just how wrong that idiotic story was. She cared way too damned much, making her a liability in the eyes of the Capitol. No matter how hard she tried hiding the emotion, it always came back to stab her in the back, right where she used to imagine she'd grow wings when she was a little girl. She felt interminable guilt pounding against her chest every day, threatening to send her dropping to the ground as screams wracked her body. For all she knew, her poker face was always slipping and nobody gave a rat's ass as to how she felt. The waves of turmoil were always washing over her, threatening to drag her under.

Shayera tuned back in, listening to the incessant chatter of Courtney Whitmore, who seemed to have some weird fetish for stars. White eyeliner lined her waterline, a glittery blue sequin-like product extending from her tear duct to the wing of her thick, black eyeliner from her lids. White primed her eyes, sharply contrasting with the black liner. Three red stars descended from above the halfway mark of her eye to an inch below her eye, adding even more glitter. Her lashes were lengthened with the aid of white mascara. Blue blush highlighted her high cheekbones. Courtney's blonde locks were pulled up into a crazy do, large pieces fanned out to make a five-pointed star. Heavy earrings shaped like stars hung from her earlobes, accompanied by metallic studs in her cartilage. Her body was clad in a skintight black dress, complete with superfluous sequins of a wide array of colors. Blue, red, and white pumps added the finishing touch to Courtney's look. Despite her bizarre appearance, the young woman, nicknamed Star, was believed to be dead sexy by plenty men.

"Are we understood?" Courtney asked, raising a thin eyebrow.

Shayera's face contorted into a look of confusion. "What?"

Courtney rolled her eyes. "I should have known. We already went over this, Shayera. Alcohol is strictly prohibited before the reaping takes place. I mean, why give this abysmal place an even worse reputation?"

Shayera laughed cruelly, her eyes flickering over to a particularly famous weapon: a beautifully constructed silver mace. This was the lethal weapon she had wielded in the Games, earning her a dangerous status. Courtney followed her gaze and gulped, no doubt replaying the tape in her mind.

"Listen," Shayera said, whipping her head quickly to the side, taking Courtney by surprise. "I want you to take your fake ass the hell out of my home. And if you don't, I might have to chuck a beer bottle at the work that was recently done to that pretty little face of yours." After all, Courtney probably thought Shayera owned a century's supply of the stuff.

"This isn't over," Courtney rumbled, glaring at the petite victor.

"The hell it isn't," chimed Shayera, beckoning towards the exit with a smirk.

**-Later that Day with Raven-**

Raven frowned when she saw her appearance in the fragmented, cracked mirror her family owned. The injuries she had received from her father were tender and sore, but she would be able to manage the pain. After all, compared to the injuries people sustained in the Hunger Games, this was nothing. Nevertheless, she was frowning because despite the simplicity of her looks, she looked different. Almost unrecognizable to her perfect vision.

Sure, she wasn't wearing makeup or anything to enhance her looks, but she somehow looked altered, more pure. Her hair was partially pulled up with a small clip while some layered strands framed her face. Raven's body was clad in a fading beige dress that her mother had left behind when she had left. It clung to her body for all the wrong reasons, highlighting just how skinny she really was. Worn out sandals gave her feet some warmth, as well as protection for the gravelly ground of District 12. Aside from looking older and a little more haggard, she looked precisely the same as the previous year. But this year, shadows were clinging to her lovingly. And with those shadows attached so fondly to her, she looked like an angel of darkness.

"Mom would be so proud of you," commented Phoenix, walking towards Raven with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"She'd be even prouder when she took a look at you," Raven quietly called, still facing the mirror.

Phoenix sighed. "You never did realize how special you really are. Here, lift your hair up."

Raven complied with his wishes, watching as his hands encircled her neck while he gingerly clasped a golden necklace around the cylindrical body part. He stepped away, giving her some space to turn around, which she did. Unfortunately, she didn't seem happy for receiving such a gift.

"You stole this," Raven accused her half-brother.

Phoenix heaved a great sigh. "No, I didn't."

"This is pure gold, Phoenix. We could never afford something as extravagant as this. Something of this caliber doesn't even belong in this forsaken district!"

Raven's brother pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, you know how I told you Mom just went up and left one night without saying goodbye to anybody?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Raven bewilderingly exclaimed.

"I lied," he blurted.

"You did _what_?"

"Please, just let me explain." Phoenix paused, seeing if she would blow up before he could fully clarify. "Before she left, Mom gave me a message. That message revolved around you, Raven. She gave me that necklace. She said that the necklace was important and that it was imperative I give it to you before this year's Games."

Raven gritted her teeth. "And what did this message entail?"

"I'm not allowed to say, but Mom said that you will know when the time is right."

"And how the hell am I supposed to figure that out!?"

"All I can say is that no matter what happens, you must listen, not with your ears, but with your heart. Only then will everything make sense."

"Let me get this straight…. You lied to me about saying goodbye to Mom. You could have prevented her from leaving!" screamed Raven.

"You know how Arella is," Phoenix said with a hint of desperation in his voice. "Once she puts her mind to something, you can't stop her. She had already left before she even set foot out of the house."

"Get out," Raven spat, not wanting to see his face for a minute longer. She turned away from her half-brother, her eyes shut tight.

Phoenix opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. Sadly, he left her alone, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

When she heard the resonating slam that indicated he had exited the house, she finally opened her eyes. Once more, she stared at the familiar stranger in the damaged mirror. Slowly, she felt her hands lift, making their way from her sides to the necklace around her neck. She was astonished by the simple beauty it possessed. Additionally, the necklace undoubtedly carried some strong message.

It was a mockingjay.

Somehow, it gave her strength. She wasn't going to go down without fighting. That was a promise.

Determinedly, Raven made her way to the adjourning kitchen. Snapping a drawer open, she removed a sharp kitchen knife from its contents. After examining it for a minute or two, Raven stuffed the weapon down her dress, her undergarment hugging the blade to her bosom.

Silently, Raven vowed to never give anybody the satisfaction of seeing her fail.

**-Meanwhile in District 1-**

Richard Grayson was currently pacing frantically around the room, fists clenched at his sides. In a few minutes, he would have to make his way to what could very well be his imminent doom. Sighing, he opened up his right palm and examined what would be his token if he was selected as tribute. Sitting on his palm was a very expensive watch that had belonged to his adoptive father's father, Thomas Wayne. The watch had a sleek design, silver and gold and gleaming as if it was brand new, albeit being over twenty years old. Bruce had told the agile teenager that in his moment of need, all he would have to do is turn to the watch. However, Richard wasn't too sure what that meant.

The giant bell rang in the town square, signaling that it was time to gather around for the reaping. Shutting his eyes, Richard inhaled and exhaled for a minute, calming his nerves. Head held up high, Richard swiftly exited the Wayne Manor. Just like every previous year, he would have to make the best out of a bad situation.

The previous day, every possible tribute had their blood drawn to prepare the slips that would go into the glass balls. Occasionally glancing at the scar the prick from the needle gave him, he contemplated how the pain people felt through the bloody annual event compared. He quickly shook the thought from his mind.

Richard pushed past the throng of people milling about slowly. A shove from an eighteen year old seeking glory sent the acrobat sprawling onto the ground. He ungracefully landed in front of a couple making out ferociously. In all honesty, it looked like they were gnawing each other's faces off; that's how intense it was. However, they broke apart when Richard accidentally interrupted their not-so-private session. Sighing, the former circus performer hoisted himself off the ground.

Roy Harper turned to face Dick, obviously unhappy. Roy was two years older than the ward of Bruce Wayne, making it his final year to be eligible for a chance to be a victor. He yearned for that moment to happen with every aching bone in his body. Like the boy before him, he was adopted at a young age. Roy was the ward of Oliver Queen, who was engaged to the lovely Dinah Lance. They were rivals, simply because the businesses of their fathers were competitors. Roy was very muscular and tall, his eyes a brilliant green and his hair a vivid red. It was a well-known fact that Roy was an expert with the bow, able to take you down with a single shot without even looking at you.

Roy's companion was Jade Nguyen, the beautiful and ruthless head cheerleader at their school. She could make the toddlers in the district burst into tears with just one of her icy stares. A couple of years ago, she mutilated Duela Dent's face with just her nails and custom nail polish. Her raven mane cascaded down her back, layered. The emerald orbs of her eyes seemingly always taunted you. Like her boyfriend, she was eighteen years old and vying for an opportunity to compete in the Hunger Games.

"Watch it, Grayson," Jade spat.

"Or what, you'll claw my eyes out and eat my eyeballs for breakfast? Or, perhaps, paralyze me with that dreadful breath of yours?" taunted Richard.

"Hold your tongue," snapped Roy. "I eat punks like you for breakfast."

"Oh, yeah, how are Más y Menos doing? You know, those brothers that are half your age? Oh, wait; you had been the one to take most of the beating."

Jade raised her hand, looking ready to strike Richard. Before she could proceed, however, Barbara Gordon burst in on the scene, blocking Richard from both Roy and Jade. Barbara was the daughter of Jim Gordon, a Peacekeeper in District 1. She possessed electrifying bluish green eyes and red hair that was the envy of several girls in the district. In school, Barbara was an excellent pole-vaulter and gymnast. She also happened to be the closest thing Richard had to a friend, other than the Wayne family butler, Alfred.

"Stop it!" exclaimed Barbara, holding up her hands so one was facing Richard and the other was held up to his adversaries.

"Or what, you'll run and go cry to Daddy?" sneered Jade, the fire in her eyes dancing.

"At least I have a dad," retorted Barbara meanly.

Roy growled. "You little—"

"Off to your sections!" barked one of the older Peacekeepers.

Roy glared at Richard before shoving past him. Richard stumbled slightly, but quickly regained his footing. He watched as Jade followed her boyfriend like a lost puppy. The term serpent was probably more accurate.

"Are you okay?" inquired Barbara, leading him over to their section.

"I'm fine," Richard grumbled. "Thanks, Babs."

Barbara looked confused.

"You're the closest thing I have to a friend. Sure, we rarely talk to each other, but I appreciate your kindness."

"Who else is going to save you from sporting black eyes?" laughed Barbara, somehow finding this to be rather humorous.

Richard forced a smile. If only he had someone to save him from himself….

* * *

I am terribly sorry for the delay in the update. I wound up busy with schoolwork. Also, I was working on who belonged in what district and how to make it interesting. I think I've got it all figured out, but I might edit the character list slightly. Is there anybody you would like to see in this story in particular? You'll get to meet all the tributes in the next chapter, promise! Also, the next chapter will definitely be longer. Originally, this chapter would be much longer, but it seemed like a good place to end and gave me an opportunity to ask my lovely readers for what they would like to see.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Emotionally Existing

I really hope that you guys like the characters I selected to participate in the deadly Games. It took me ages to figure out, partially because I wanted the characters to match up with the districts. Overall, I'm actually satisfied with my choices.

While working on this chapter, I came across a couple of songs that reminded me of characters in this story. I wanted to share them with you guys. From now on, I'll probably start sharing any songs that I think relate to the story and/or characters.

Robin – Hero by Skillet.  
This song reminds me of his character because he's not superhuman, even in more accurate portrayals of him, such as the comics. Additionally, he needs someone to save him from himself, as demonstrated in the previous chapter. It just seemed fitting.

Raven – Broken Girl by Matthew West.  
This reminded me of her character because the way her father treats her isn't fair. She's undeniably broken and feels worthless. However, she doesn't have to stay the broken girl, which can be indicated by her willingness to fight. Maybe it's just me, but I thought it suited her.

* * *

_The lights were dazzling, the twinkling of extravagant chandeliers utterly brilliant. The food was to die for, meticulously prepared and absolutely salivating. Several people milled about, striking up conversations with old friends and enemies. By the end of the night, somebody was bound to be poisoned. That's how these high class affairs worked. In spite of that gruesome detail, people are like magnets, attracted to the undeniable beauty and tantalizing danger._

_The party that was organized for the evening was to celebrate the president's birthday. Only the elite were invited and any party crashers would be severely punished. While Lex Luthor didn't entirely like inflicting pain on others, several guests believed he truly wished someone would crash the party so he could torment them and savor their anguished cries. In fact, they all believed watching that someone screaming in agony would be the perfect present for him._

_The president was currently in his bed chambers, accompanied by a lovely woman with the nickname Huntress. She was clad in a skintight leotard that showed a considerable amount of cleavage and didn't leave much to the imagination when it came to her derriere. Black heeled boots reached mid-thigh, partially hiding away her toned legs. A black cape was attached to her outfit, surprisingly not strangling her. A pink mask framed her face, adding a slight air of mystery to her appearance. The sole reason she wore this getup was for Lex Luthor, for this was a kink he possessed. In spite of the fact that capes often stood as a symbol for heroism, the costume turned him on in such surprising ways. After all, how could a sinner like Lex Luthor, so nefarious and despicable, appreciate such a thing, especially when he represented evil in every single aspect?_

"_You are so beautiful," Lex whispered in her ear before proceeding to kiss her exposed neck._

_Huntress giggled, before slowly unzipping his pants. She waited for him to stop his actions, but he didn't. Taking that as a good sign, she pushed his pants down to his ankles, springing his erection free. She released a breathy moan when he nipped at her weak spot before licking and kissing the pain away. Feeling a wetness beginning to spread between her thighs, Huntress reached down and began pumping away at his little friend._

_The two continued with their frenzied fit of animal passion. Basking in the afterglow that only sex could bring, Huntress lifted her head off of Lex's sculpted and scarred chest. "Why?" she whispered, as if fearing his answer._

"_Why what?" he mumbled, stroking her hair._

"_Why am I the only one?"_

_She was, of course, referring to how she was his only lover. Despite possessing riches that the average mind couldn't even fathom, Huntress was the only woman he paid for… certain services. Sure, she was younger and definitely more flexible than the other women in her brothel, but she definitely wasn't the best when it came to pleasure. She knew this for certain because the women she lived with would often get bored and practice… techniques on each other. In fact, the idea of hot showers in her living quarters was utterly absurd. Besides, he was her only client now. Since he chose to only be with her, she liked to believe she was special._

_Lex didn't answer. He paused, frowning. Slowly, he said, "I've got to go. I'm already late as is."_

"_Happy birthday, Alexander," Huntress whispered, her voice full of sorrow as she watched him dress._

A slap to the face shook Paula Crock from her thoughts. Standing before her was her fifteen year old daughter, Artemis. Artemis' golden mane of hair that greatly contrasted with Paula's black hair was pulled up into a high ponytail with a few strands framing her haggard face. Her gray eyes showed worry as she examined her only family member.

"You were having another lapse," Artemis explained. These scenarios always scared her. Ever since she found her mother sprawled on the grimy floor a couple of years ago because of one, she made it her duty to prevent her mother's mind from being lost forever.

"Was I?" Paula mused, trying to shake the stimulating memories out of the forefront of her mind.

"Why do they happen, Mom?" Artemis questioned.

Paula sighed. Her beloved daughter has always been abrasive. But why should she be surprised? Every child in District 12 grew up to be a hardened soul. After all, this district could practically be represented by raw suffering. Instead of answering her daughter's question, Paula said, "The reaping is going to start soon. We really should get you ready."

"This is the nicest thing that belongs to me," responded Artemis, who had started to examine her appearance. She was wearing an orange dress with black stripes. While being unique in this district, the dress was obviously frayed at the hem.

"It's not the nicest thing we have," Paula said, staring off into space.

Artemis snapped her fingers in front of her mother's face. "What do you mean? We can hardly afford food! Most of the animals I hunt in the woods are sold to the butcher so we afford bread that doesn't even last two days!"

"You and I both know we don't belong in this forsaken place. Once upon a time, I came from a much grander place, Artemis. The sights would simply baffle you. But, of course, I made a grave mistake."

Artemis was astounded. Her mother never talked about her past. It was the unspoken rule that was forged between them. It was an understanding that the two of them had developed. Dwelling on the past made her mother weaker, more fragile. The past was a vicious weapon, ready to strike you the moment you showed vulnerability.

"Follow me," murmured Paula, wheeling herself to the adjoining bedroom.

She rummaged through the closet for a few seconds before pulling out a stunning floor-length emerald dress. It was strapless and looked like it would accentuate the waist flatteringly. A sash of black lace and small diamonds at the waist added to the extravagant beauty of the dress. The gown was slightly tiered and elegantly fanned outward. Black lace accented the bottom of each tier, blending well with the dark green material. It was the picturesque of a fairy tale gown.

"Where the hell did you get this?" exclaimed Artemis, having never actually seen something worth this much. If sold, this dress would be able to supply them years' worth of food. Besides, they lived in the poorest district in Panem!

Paula momentarily stared her daughter down reproachfully. "It was a… gift."

"From who?"

Paula looked pained. "Artemis… please. Just wear the dress. I want to give it to you."

Artemis shook her head. "I'm not wearing that, Mom. It'll draw unwanted attention to us! I'm already an anomaly at school! We shouldn't dump more gasoline on the fire!"

"Damn it, Artemis! Do you know how much I've sacrificed for you!? I've put my whole entire being into raising you considering the circumstances! I've _died_ for you! And you can't do one little thing for me?"

Artemis flinched, staring at her mother in shock. She hated upsetting her mother. Whenever she did, guilt would rush up her esophagus, threatening to choke her. It was a terrible feeling. Sighing, the blonde hunter relented.

Paula watched as her daughter stripped down to her thin and worn out undergarments. She smiled when she saw her precious daughter slip the extravagant dress on. While Artemis didn't possess a curvaceous figure, she was certainly more filled out than the other girls her age. She looked absolutely enthralling in the dress.

Paula clicked her tongue. "Your hair… that would never do."

Artemis reached behind her head and began fingering the blonde strands of hair. What was so bad about a simple ponytail? Ponytails were simple to do and only required a few seconds of your time. It was the perfect hairdo.

Paula retrieved a brush before making Artemis sit on the floor. After practically yanking out all of her daughter's hair for what seemed like hours to the poor teenager, Paula began tugging the neatly brushed hair into what became a beautiful flower braid. Examining her daughter's appearance quickly, Paula quickly removed a box from her closet, producing beautiful pieces of jewelry that matched the gown flawlessly.

"Why are you dressing me up?" inquired Artemis as her mother gently clasped a necklace around her neck.

"Let's just say I've learned to trust my gut instinct," she whispered solemnly.

**-Meanwhile in District 5-**

Cassie Sandsmark was utterly confused. Why was fate so cruel? For two hours, she'd been wondering this. Three hours ago, her name had been drawn at the reaping. She was so confused, which threw her off balance since she was always the type of girl that knew what she wanted. She was very driven. But put her in the face of death?

It seemed like she was helpless.

She pulled her knees up to her chin, staring at the pristine flooring of the bathroom she hid herself in. She didn't want to be in the company of the other tributes. Arthur Light, an eighteen year old boy that looked over twice that age, was very jittery and managed to send chills creeping up her spine. Arthur's accompanying male tribute was the seventeen year old Jason Todd. While being easy on the eyes, there was an air of mischief about him that unsettled her. Then, there was Toni Monetti, the fifteen year old daughter of a Peacekeeper in District 5. Toni appeared to be convivial, which could easily her health in the arena. If a sponsor sends you an alcoholic beverage out of pity, all you would have to do is slip acid or some type of potent poison into the drink and Toni would be down for the count. In order to survive this, you had to be tough.

Something Cassie lacked… for now.

**-Meanwhile in the Capitol-**

Jennifer Faust couldn't be bought. If these morons expected her to be a good little girl that was dazzled by all the dazzling sights, they were sorely mistaken. These idiots wanted to see her blood spilled on national television. They longed to see her fail. She wouldn't dare give them that satisfaction. She would make them regret drawing her name at that damned reaping, even if it was the last thing she ever did.

Smirking mischievously, Jennifer cracked open her window. Ducking her head out the opening to make sure nobody was in sight, she wriggled through the opening and started to scale the side of the building. While it was a slow process, it somehow soothed her. Dropping to the ground as gracefully as a feline, she made her way over to the overly priced stores. Her hands were itching and it really wouldn't be her fault if several items wound up missing. Besides, how was it her fault that those blood-craving morons hadn't done anything about the window? Maybe they'd finally up their security measures.

And she still would be able to outsmart them. After all, it was how the cunning fox worked.

**-Meanwhile in District 1-**

Richard Grayson was zoning out on his adoptive father's speech. He said pretty much the same thing every year. He could afford to not listen for once. Instead, he decided to study the people surrounding him. To his right, he saw some girl he didn't recognize start to slink her hand into another girl's pants. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Gross. A few rows in front of them, he saw a pretty girl he recognized from school. Her name was Bette Kane and she was a prodigy in tennis. He also knew she excelled in gymnastics and martial arts. She also happened to be returning his gaze.

She raised a manicured eyebrow in curiosity. Smiling, she winked at him before facing the front once more. This action confused Richard. Exactly, what was that supposed to mean?

A series of claps arose, startling him out of his reverie. Looking up, he noticed that Bruce had finally finished his speech. About time.

Morgaine le Fey, the escort for District 1, could be seen eying his adoptive father's ass momentarily, which grossed him out immensely. It was bad enough to think of him doing stuff he didn't even want to think of with Diana.

Morgaine cleared her throat. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne, for that lovely presentation. Now, it's time to select not two, but four courageous young people to participate in this year's Hunger Games! We'll start with the ladies because we all know how impatient we gals can be!"

Morgaine made her way over to the giant glass balls that contained the fates of the teenaged girls in District 1. Delicately, she reached in and produced an impeccably folded slip. Making her way back to the microphone, she called out the name. Like usual, volunteers, well, volunteered. However, they all backed down when they realized Jade Nguyen was volunteering. Thus, she officially became a tribute, just like she wanted.

Blurring out his surroundings again, Richard began examining the hard-packed earth underneath his feet. He began to wonder how many creatures lived there. He wondered how many of them were blotted out of existence just because they didn't prove to be convenient. He began to wonder if anybody would care if his life was just taken away from him.

His musing was interrupted when his name was called.

And for the first time in District 1, nobody volunteered.

**-Meanwhile in District 12-**

Shayera Hol was having the most fun in years. Her mere presence was pissing Courtney Whitmore off and to add to the flames, her speech was making it a gazillion times worse. To a naïve mind like Courtney's, it seemed like she had consumed a barrel of the strongest alcohol known to man. However, Shayera was pretty close to sober and deserved an award for her endearing performance.

When Courtney unprofessionally tried snatching the microphone out of Shayera's grasp, the victor screamed, "You know, bitches like you, sticks up their asses and all, piss me the hell off! I think you hide behind all that 'fashionable' shit because you're insecure as fuck! That gunk on your face, while making you look like some freaky ass alien, is purely to disguise the hideous soul underneath! And you know what? I pity your sorry ass!"

Smirking, Shayera tossed the microphone behind her, which careened into a disgruntled Peacekeeper. A screeching noise emitted, worse than nails on a chalkboard. Flicking off every person that came from the Capitol, Shayera made her grand exit.

Courtney pursed her lips. That infuriating woman could get her fired. How dare she make a fool of her on television! She only hoped this year's tributes wouldn't be as dreadful. Maybe they would even have proper manners, which would be highly doubtful.

"I am most apologetic about the scene that has just occurred. From now on, I will make sure she doesn't lay a hand on anything with alcohol. Anyway, enough about previous victors! This year might produce another victor for this… ahem, special, district. Let there be more honor and glory to spread!"

Reaching over to the thankfully undamaged glass bowl holding the names of the possible female tributes, Courtney read out, "Artemis Crock!"

All eyes pivoted to Artemis, who was feeling way too uncomfortable under their heavy gazes. This was the second time in less than twelve hours. She didn't like to be in the spotlight; she very much preferred to be on the outside looking in. Besides, she really didn't want to be thrown into an arena where people died.

Eyes followed her as she slowly made her way up to the stage. It even seemed like Courtney Whitmore was enthralled by her very presence. Almost tripping up the small stairs, Artemis solemnly stood by the District 12 escort.

"My, my, my… you look absolutely riveting, dear. Tell me, how did you gain possession of your ensemble?" After all, her whole entire outfit was probably worth more money than a hundred houses in this district. Maybe a thousand.

"I'm afraid that's none of your concern," said Artemis snidely. If her mother didn't want her past to be known, she would ensure that it stayed safe.

Be as that may, Artemis' answer merely made Courtney think the whole entire outfit was stolen, however impossible it was. "Very well," the escort said, tight-lipped. She drew another slip from the bowl of female contenders. "Raven Roth!" she called.

Unlike Artemis' approach, Raven was confident as she approached the stage. She had no intention of looking weak to the spectators. She was sick and tired of being pushed around like she was nothing. Maybe it was finally time to step out of the shadows and prove there was a reason why she was brought into this world.

"So, tell me, Raven, do you possess any special skills that might help you survive in the Games?" questioned Courtney. Raven simply sent her a death glare, which made Courtney wince. "Ah, lovely… if only looks could kill."

The next name was drawn. Slowly, Conner El made his way towards the stage. Raven instantly recognized him. Even though friends were a somewhat rare commodity in this suffering district, he lacked in the social department more than others. A few years ago, he had lost his only sister because of the Games. She had only been twelve years old and her brutal death had resulted in the suicide of Conner's father. Conner had tried to follow suit, but had failed in his attempt. It was truly saddening.

The last tribute for this year's Games in District 12 was Kevin Wykkyd. Kevin was a thirteen year old orphan. His mother had died from childbirth and his father died seven years ago from a mine explosion. Undoubtedly, he had a harder life than most kids. He had to learn to survive on the bitter streets, stealing food and living in a small cardboard box in a grimy alley. Throughout his life, nobody tried helping him. They just let him continue on with his miserable and isolated existence. He was like a ghost.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favor! Now, let's give this year's tributes a round of applause!" When nobody bothered to applause, Courtney sighed and began ushering the tributes over to the Justice Building.

To Raven, it seemed like hours had passed before someone entered the room she was thrown into. It was Phoenix. He was sweating profusely, which led her to believe that he was frantically worrying.

"What?" asked Raven, crossing her arms over her chest.

Phoenix ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know you may hate me right now, but I can't just let you go without saying goodbye. You're my little sister and I love you."

"Phoenix…"

"Listen to me, Rae. You have to try your hardest. I couldn't possibly bear it if you… you know. You mean way too much to me. If you were gone, Dad would go over the edge, even more than he is right now. Your life is more valuable than you'd like to believe."

Abruptly, the doors opened again and two Peacekeepers began to drag him out of the room. Looking like he wanted to say more, Phoenix simply yelled, "Try!"

Next stumbled in Trigon. He looked like a train wreck. Heavy bags circled his bloodshot eyes and his wrinkles looked emphasized. The strong scent of whiskey lingered around his damaged body.

"If you touch me, I swear you will regret it," hissed Raven.

"I'm an ass," said her father.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

"Raven, I've faced so much heartache through my life. When I was younger, I witnessed my family's deaths. I was only a baby. They were burned to death and their cries of agony still haunt me to this day. They had vocally opposed the Hunger Games, which is how they wound up dead. It was traumatizing as a kid. Fortunately, the elderly man next door was willing to take me in. Eventually, he died. Just like everybody else important in my life. When Arella left, it was the breaking point. I unleashed my frustration on you, which was unfair of me. My senses were blurred and my inner monster was released. You didn't deserve that."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

Trigon gave her a crooked and bittersweet smile. "Because the pattern is continuing." And with that, he was dragged out of the room.

**-Meanwhile in the Capitol-**

Jesse Chambers was still shaking. Even with her speed that was higher than the average person, she was still unable to process this. She wasn't prepared to die. Memories of previous Games haunted her sleep every week. It was how she developed a passion for running. It cleared her head of the vivid, grotesque images.

As she paced back and forth, she started to feel pity for the other tributes in her district. Karen Beecher, a sixteen year old girl, seemed really sweet, although Jesse was under the impression that she could be a little bossy at times. Mikron O'Jeneus, a bald twelve year old midget, vexed her. In fact, she was certain he did it on purpose. Throughout the whole entire train ride, all he did was insult the reps from the Capitol with such childish derogatory terms, such as crud-munchers and slug-faces. However, she could possibly wind up considering him to be like a little brother. Victor Stone, a boy she admittedly had a crush on a couple of years ago, probably had the best chance of surviving from their group. He was surprisingly strong and was the smartest boy in school. Plus, he was the oldest in the bunch.

She was seriously starting to wish she had finished playing that video game now….

**-Meanwhile in District 9-**

Wally West was in the middle of running his fifteenth mile and he was hardly breaking a sweat. He just found peace whenever he ran. A surge of adrenaline would just rush through his veins as the comforting sound of his steady footsteps beating against the hard-packed earth echoed in his head. He ran a minimum of a hundred miles a week. It was the reason why he was the fastest kid in District 9.

The fifteen year old was the owner of stunning green eyes and messy red hair. Throughout his whole entire life, he was always the 'glass is half full' kind of guy. This held true even with the Hunger Games. His line of thinking for the Games was that at least the children that died were put out of their misery. Although, this thinking didn't stop his compassion from rushing to the surface. He would always feel the urge to help them, which would probably be his Achilles' heel.

And if his name was reaped today, the good that would come out of it…?

Well, he still wasn't sure.

**-Meanwhile in the Capitol-**

Harley Quinn was very emotional. She was so dehydrated because of how much she had been crying after her name had been reaped. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were rather puffy with a tinge of pink. Plus, her fellow female tribute from District 7 certainly hadn't helped her. Jennifer had simply worsened the fragile girl's condition by taunting her mercilessly. If it hadn't been for Isaiah Crockett, Harley probably would have tried stabbing herself to death with the plastic knife on the train. Isaiah proved to have quite the temper, which she was positive scared Jennifer. Be as that may, his actions had slightly comforted her.

Then, there was Seymour Moore. In her opinion, he had violated her. More than once, she had caught him eying her chest and bottom. She was certain that he was a pervert, especially when she saw him slap Jennifer's butt. Surprisingly, Jennifer hadn't even said anything to him. Either way, Harley strongly believed that Seymour was an absolute pig.

Feeling as if she was suffocating, Harley hurried out of her designated room. She really needed a breath of fresh air. If she didn't, the outcome wouldn't have been really pretty. Quietly, she made her way over to a rather large window. From her vantage point, she was able to spot all of the grand sights in the Capitol. While it was truly breathtaking, she longed to be back home. The sights there were familiar, not alien. She heaved out a sigh, getting lost in her precious thoughts.

"Well, hello, beautiful," hooted a very familiar voice.

* * *

**A/N - **Okay, so I originally planned to have all of the tributes introduced in this chapter. Then, I decided that that route would be redundant and a little dull. However, I am going to let you guys know who's all going to be in this story. Let me know if you're happy with my decisions.

District 1: Luxury Items  
Richard Grayson. (Robin)  
Roy Harper. (Speedy)  
Jade Nguyen. (Chesire)  
Bette Kane. (Batgirl/Flamebird)

District 2: Masonry  
Kori Anders. (Starfire)  
Koma Anders. (Blackfire)  
Baran Flinders. (Mammoth)  
Ryuko Orsono. (Bushido)

District 3: Electronics  
Victor Stone. (Cyborg)  
Mikron O'Jeneus. (Gizmo)  
Karen Beecher. (Bumblebee)  
Jesse Chambers. (Jesse Quick)

District 4: Fishing  
Garth Curry. (Aqualad)  
Jackson Hyde. (Aqualad/Kaldur'ahm)  
Tula Windsnap. (Aquagirl)  
Lorena Marquez. (Aquagirl)

District 5: Power  
Arthur Light. (Dr. Light)  
Jason Todd. (Red-X)  
Cassie Sandsmark. (Wonder Girl)  
Toni Monetti. (Argent)

District 6: Transportation  
Terra Markov. (Terra)  
Megan Morse. (Miss Martian)  
Johnny Rancid. (Johnny Rancid)  
Malchior Pendragon. (Malchior/Rorek)

District 7: Lumber  
Isaiah Crockett. (Hot Spot)  
Seymour Moore. (See-More)  
Harley Quinn. (Harley Quinn)  
Jennifer Faust. (Jinx)

District 8: Textiles  
Kole Weathers. (Kole)  
Kitten Walker. (Kitten)  
Neil Richards. (Mad Mod)  
William Parrish. (Billy Numerous)

District 9: Grain  
Wally West. (Kid Flash)  
Tavis Williams. (Lightning)  
Angel Garcia. (Angel)  
Stephanie Brown. (Batgirl/Spoiler)

District 10: Livestock  
Gar Logan. (Beast Boy)  
Gan Williams. (Thunder)  
Rosabelle Mendez. (Pantha)  
Raquel Ervin. (Rocket)

District 11: Agriculture  
Mal Duncan. (Herald)  
Joseph Wilson. (Jericho)  
Greta Hayes. (Secret)  
Anita Fite. (Empress)

District 12: Coal Mining  
Raven Roth. (Raven)  
Artemis Crock. (Artemis)  
Kevin Wykkyd. (Kid Wykkyd)  
Connor El. (Superboy)

Favorite part? Least favorite part? Hate? Like? Anything you want to see in the upcoming chapters? Let me know in the reviews.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Poisonous

If words are sandwiched between two hyphens that seemingly shouldn't be there, it's because that word or phrase should be crossed out, but this site prohibits me from doing so.

* * *

Harley Quinn whirled around, deeply startled. Whenever she lost sense of her surroundings, she was absolutely oblivious to what was going on around her. Quickly approaching her from the other end of the hall was Jack White, a previous victor of the Hunger Games. A few strands of his shaggy blond hair fell onto his face, almost covering up his piercing green eyes. His skin was abnormally white due to an accident he faced from the Games. Further altering his appearance were several jagged scars that marred his flesh. Jack's lips started twitching slightly, causing the emotional girl to wonder what his smile looked like. In the end, she came to one obvious conclusion about him.

He was -handsome- a monster.

She couldn't possibly afford to be rude. After all, he was surprisingly deadly. "Hello, Mistah J," she greeted unsurely. Ever since she was a little girl, she had had a little twang in her voice.

Jack cackled. "Nobody's ever addressed me so formally before! It's such a… _sickening_ feeling. Sweetheart, call me Jack. Speaking of which, what's your name?"

The nervous blonde answered, "Harleen Quinzel, but everybody calls me Harley."

Jack pondered this for a few moments. "Harley… You know, if you rework it a bit, you get Harlequin."

"Are you saying I look like a clown?" scoffed Harley, placing her hands on her hips.

He released a fake gasp. "Me? Never! You're too pretty to even be considered a clown!"

Harley blushed slightly. Nobody has ever called her pretty before. Sure, she got the occasional glance-over from guys, but it didn't mean anything to her. The looks didn't make her feel truly wanted. And, boy, did she want to feel wanted… and not by petty perverts like Seymour.

"So… Harley, how 'bout I buy you a drink?"

"Oh, I can't," she exclaimed. "I'm not old enough to drink."

Jack squinted, studying her appearance more closely. "How old are you, exactly?"

"Fourteen."

He seemed genuinely surprised by this answer. "Well, that sure didn't stop me."

-His offer was so tempting.- He was planning on luring her in and killing her where nobody would see or find her.

"Even so, I have to stick around here. If I'm gone, they might think that one of their precious tributes has been kidnapped or something."

Jack's eyes narrowed, instantly darkening. He abhorred the creators of the Hunger Games with a wild passion. Sure, it allowed him to get away from his hellhole of a home, but it scarred him beyond repair. It dredged up such bitter memories, especially when he was poisoned. Those two days were, perhaps, the most painful he'd ever endured. It was when his sanity reached the breaking point and fully cracked.

"Do you honestly think they give a rat's ass about you? They're pitting you against other children to _die! _It's not some fucking play date that you get to walk away from! You're dispensable and they bloody well know it. All they care about are their stupid Games!" he bellowed bitterly.

He exuded such passion. -He must be a great lover in bed.- She hardly knew the guy and could already tell that he truly considered his thoughts and beliefs. Every minute detail was calculated and used to his advantage. Miraculously, he wasn't some old stick in the mud like Vic Sage, a man from her district known as the Question that always obsessed over ludicrous conspiracy theories, such as how District 13 wasn't annihilated contrary to popular belief.

"Who's to say you won't poison me?"

Jack chortled merrily. "Darling, all of the poisons in my possession are reserved for certain… elites. Besides, I would never poison one as lovely as you! In fact, I can help you build up a tolerance level for poisons. I'm sure it'll come in handy at some point!"

"You consume poisons just to be immune to their effects? You have got to be joking."

"Ever since that plant-loving bitch, Pamela Isley, poisoned me in the Games, I made the decision to do so to protect myself. I pissed off the Gamemakers. For all I knew, they would try to spike my drink to get rid of me. I mean, I didn't know I put a smile on their faces! It was a… little precaution."

"Why would she poison you?" questioned Harley. She had never viewed the full Games.

"I'll tell you the story if you come with me." He winked.

Harley hesitated. What was the worst that could happen?

"Well, I sure do love a good story…."

**-Meanwhile with Raven-**

"Okay, this is how it's going to work out. If one of you dares to tattle on me for being in the possession of alcohol to that star spangled slut, I will make sure it's not in your favor. And when I say something, it sure as hell isn't in vain," Shayera Hol explained wearisomely.

Artemis exclaimed, "Are you threatening us?"

"Oh, honey, it isn't a threat. It's a promise."

"So, you're going to be too drunk and hung over to even prove useful to us!?" yelled Artemis, jumping to her feet.

Shayera's eyes darted over to her mace. Sighing, she asked, "Can you even fight?"

"What?" Artemis' mouth dropped.

Rolling her eyes, Shayera repeated herself.

"Of course I can!" said Artemis. "I hunt every day, unless something's going on that prohibits me from doing so. My targets are always moving and I always manage to pierce them in areas that won't ruin the meat or pelt."

"And if there aren't any bows and arrows, what are you going to do?"

Artemis didn't have a response to that.

"That's what I thought," uttered Shayera, who started to examine her fingernails. "And what about you three?" she said, addressing the other tributes in District 12.

"I snapped the neck of a bear with one hand once," muttered Conner. Unless it was her imagination, Raven could have sworn that everybody else in the compartment slid away from the intimidating boy ever so slightly.

"I'm good at hiding from others," murmured Kevin, looking at the checkered flooring.

"And what about you, sweetheart? Will you be able to survive?"

Raven lifted her gaze, jaw tucked firmly. "I have motivation."

After all, motivation and determination was a powerful weapon, but unfortunately, it was often underestimated. And when the time came around, it would be ready to lash out at everybody with its eager flames. It would _destroy._

"I think everyone does at this point. After all, everybody has something to lose, whether they're willing to admit it or not. They will fight for survival. It's a primal human instinct," wisely stated the older woman.

Raven quirked an eyebrow, as if setting up a challenge. Before anybody in the compartment could realize what she was doing, a blade was whizzing through the air, aimed straight for Shayera's face. To the astonishment of the teenagers from District 12, the victor surprisingly managed to grab hold of the knife before it could lodge itself firmly into the space between her eyes.

Shayera didn't blow up, which astonished Raven. Rather, her lips curled slightly and she commented, "Now, that's more like it!"

"She could have killed you!" yelled Artemis, baffled by her mentor's easygoingness with almost being killed.

"But," Shayera said with a bored tone to her voice, "she didn't."

"You're insane," proclaimed the blonde teenager.

"Isn't everyone?" questioned the victor rhetorically. "Anyhow, when you _don't _need me, I'll be in my room. I expect to hear not a single noise, or there will be consequences." She was somehow able to exit the compartment gracefully, but popped her head back in a few seconds later. Gesturing to the unidentifiable food item that Kevin was about to consume, she said, "Unless you really fancy eating an Avox's tongue, I wouldn't recommend touching that."

Startled, Kevin flung what he had assumed to be chicken in the air, smacking Artemis in the face. Looking as if she wasn't amused, she wiped away the food remnants, glaring at the younger boy. "It's cow tongue, _idiot."_

"How do you know?" meekly asked Kevin.

"I hunt. Sooner or later, you learn to differentiate the anatomy of animals. Unless, of course, you're fucking retarded," rashly responded the hunter.

Not wanting to hear an argument ensue, Raven bolted upright and left the suffocating compartment. She wanted a breath of a fresh air, and possibly the ability to fly. Maybe ignorance could really be blissful. She could blend in with the clueless birds without a care in the world. But, would that necessarily be living? This was so bizarre to the dark girl. After all, who was she to be thinking about living when she could very well be dead in a couple of weeks?

"Raven, wait!" called a voice from the end of the hallway, the area that Raven recently vacated.

Turning around, Raven saw Conner making his way towards her. She sighed. She had really wanted to be alone for a while.

"Look, I realize you probably want to be alone right now, and I don't blame you for that. In fact, I think we all do. But, you shouldn't let your anger get the best of you. That anger could plunge you straight into death's grip," he said seriously, looking down at her.

Raven gritted her teeth. "And what would you possibly know about anger?"

Conner raised his hands in what looked like a sign of self-defense. "I'm just a mere observer that's been hurt too many times to count."

"You're not the only one who feels pain."

"Yes, but I know enough not to let the pain shine through. If your enemies, including us, catch a glimpse of the turmoil boiling inside you, just about ready to erupt, they will use that against you without hesitation."

"Then why are you warning me about this when you have the upper hand?"

"Let's just say that it's an understanding between two similar souls," he said with a wink before heading back in the opposite direction.

"You know," Raven called, "you're pretty wise for a loner!"

"Well, when you're on the outside looking in, you see and hear things that most would be oblivious to."

Raven nodded slowly and watched him disappear into his own compartment. Without a doubt in her mind, she could see him acting as a positive influence on her fellow tributes. In spite of that, however, she would be sure not to let him bring her guard down. Because at the end of the day, he was still her enemy.

**-Meanwhile with Jennifer Faust-**

After making sure nobody was in the front of the shop and that the cameras were offline, Jennifer began pulverizing the items for sale in the closed shop. Once she had discovered that both the backdoor and front door were locked, she had forced entry by climbing into a cracked open window on the second floor. Next time, she would have to check to make sure she had her hair pin with her in order to pick locks.

So far, she hadn't collected a single trinket. She had been expecting to find amazing treasures, but had simply found weird shit that she couldn't even describe. Luxury must really not be as luxurious as she had assumed. So, being frustrated as she was, she decided to call it quits by raiding one more store and breaking practically every product. She felt like a broken toy; she might as well break other toys. It was simple logic.

Smirking, she whirled around, sending a flawless roundhouse kick to a rack of books. With a few of the books flying around in a chaotic heap, the rack mainly tumbled backwards, colliding with another array of shelves that, instead of being knocked down, merely splintered and sent its objects falling to the ground disorderly. Gleefully, she began grabbing objects off their positions on the shelves and tossed them over her shoulder in various directions. Next, she wiggled her fingers and examined her nails. Before she knew it, she started clawing at the paintings, tearing into the carefully painted canvases. Ah, this was way too much fun for Jennifer.

Slowly, she reached the jewelry section of the decently sized store. After damaging a few goods, she came across a pendant that she actually liked. Attached to black lace was a circular pink topaz. Compared to the other jewelry she had seen so far, this was simplistic in design, but so much more beautiful. Gingerly, she touched it, enjoying the way it seemed to describe her character. As attracted as she was to the necklace, she shouldn't have removed it from its rightful place. She should have just walked away.

Once the pendant had carefully been yanked from its protective alcove, she felt a burning sensation in the back of her skull. Ever so slowly, she crumpled to the ground, the pendant rolling along the wooden floorboards, out of her grasp. Before her eyes could fully flutter shut, Jennifer caught a glimpse of black high heels, right before one of them sent a swift kick to her stomach.

Then there was darkness.

**-Meanwhile with Harley Quinn-**

As soon as Harley entered Jack's apartment, she was impressed with her surroundings. Two windows, separated by an artistic painting, overlooked the spectacular view of the Capitol, beige drapes pulled off to the side. There were several seating options, all of them looking rather comfy, especially the recliners that sat by the fireplace. A glistening chandelier hung from the center of the front room, dangling above two glass tables that both had a vase of flowers and a book placed upon them. Near a doorway stood a glass cabinet where she caught a glimpse of bottles of alcohol, along with literature volumes.

Quickly, however, her wits burst to the surface. "I thought you said you would _buy _me a drink. You know, surrounded by other people."

"Well, deary, that would surely raise questions. Besides, I have all the good stuff right here!" merrily said Jack.

Harley chuckled uncertainly. If she actually drank his alcohol, would he take advantage of her in her weak state?

"You seem to have a flair for everything refined, so I hope you don't mind me going with the red wine."

The blonde girl watched as he poured the scarlet substance into two elegantly crafted glasses. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. What if the wine was actually blood?

Jack handed her one of the glasses before proceeding to sit down on a loveseat by the fireplace. Hesitantly, the fourteen year old girl followed in pursuit, sinking into the creamy sofa.

"So, I believe I have a story to tell, eh?" said Jack after taking a sip from the glass.

"Well," interjected Harley, "only if you feel like telling a tale!"

"It's good to get the feelings out," he said, placing his right hand on her knee. "I grew up in District 2, which I suppose makes me more fortunate than, say, those who live in District 11 or 12. I mean, we had food and all the necessities. But, life simply wasn't happy there. Especially in my household.

"Growing up, I contracted a few conditions. When I was six years old, I developed insomnia, so I often found myself wandering around the darkened streets. I walked right in on a gang war, and if it wasn't for my father, I probably would've been dead before I could have been reaped. When we got home, however, he didn't hug me to comfort me. Instead, he started beating me. The alcohol he had consumed earlier that night just heightened the beating. But, thankfully, I fell into sleep's comforting embrace afterwards.

"The beatings soon became a routine between me and my father. My mother couldn't be there to witness the scenes because she had died a couple of hours after giving birth to me. The other kids didn't care; they simply gossiped amongst themselves or bullied me further. I was an anomaly, a punching bag, a broken toy. Instead of always working in the stone quarries after school like I was supposed to, I would find myself curled up in a corner in the library reading. It eased my mind; imagining traveling to a distant land and actually being seen as a hero was a common fantasy. I could be free, which was an exciting feeling.

"Soon enough, I started suffering with what the doctors considered to be bouts of insanity. My father insisted on buckling me down at night to prevent me from sneaking out and to maybe stop some violent reaction, possibly a seizure. I would lose it, disjointing my limbs in order to untangle myself from the shackles. It was the complete opposite of my fantasies. And worst of all, they burned all of the precious books in that library I was so fond of. So, not only because someone tattled on my skip sessions, I began working in the quarries once more to occupy my mind. Then, believe it or not, everything worsened.

"When I was thirteen, I was diagnosed with a heart condition. They expected my heart to suddenly burst within a year's time. In order to 'protect' the others working in the quarries, I was excused from the strenuous duties. The time stamp on my life really opened up my eyes, making me want to live life to its fullest while I still had time. So, I sought revenge. For once in my life, I fought back. All that bullied me found themselves severely regretting it, and watching them squirm put such a smile on my face. Then, on the three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth day since my diagnosis, I found my father weeping on the kitchen floor. As luck would have it, it had been my parents' anniversary day. Deciding that the best gift I could possibly give him was a reunion with mommy dearest, I snatched a kitchen knife off the table, grabbed him by the skull, and shoved him against the wall. He started screaming at me. There was nothing new about that, no. But, there was something new because I started carving his face into a permanent smile, which was rather difficult because of his cheers. After a few hours of feeling like Picasso, my work was finished. And he was dead."

Harley was expecting a lot of things, but certainly not that. How can he still be alive when he was such a tortured a soul? What did he have to live for? Cautiously, she asked, "You killed your own father?"

"I did," he replied simply, sipping some more red wine.

"But, why? I mean, he was still your father."

"He was my father, yes, but not my dad. I was supposed to die that year. I didn't stop to reconsider the consequences. Instead, I just continued with my antics. And, frankly, I don't have a single regret. Those actions shaped me into who I am, made me stronger, a force to be reckoned with."

Not sure she wanted to hear anymore, Harley asked, "And what happened next?"

Jack laughed bitterly. "They shipped me off to Arkham Mansion, a little less than a mile away from the next district. I was placed in a ward they called Arkham Asylum, where a couple of other folks dwelled in isolation. But, I knew I wasn't crazy. Not yet, at least."

Harley's heart went out to him. Tentatively, she reached out and brushed away his unshed tears, tears that should be spilling down his pallid cheeks in a flood. He was so strong, for having held on for so long. If she had been in his position, she probably would have died the moment things got tough. "You mentioned this girl… Pamela, I believe it was. What did she do to you?"

Releasing a bark of laughter, Jack told her, "There were eleven people left in the Games, and dear old Pamela was one of them. She was one of the biggest threats and since she didn't concern me as much as Carol Ferris or Antonio Diego, I went after her. If you really wanted to piss off Pamela, all you had to do was destroy nature because she was an eco-friendly fool. I started a forest fire to bring her in, but I was admittedly unprepared for that showdown. I was weakened from the smoke that had clogged up my throat, so I wasn't at my strongest. Before I knew it, the bitch had snuck up behind me and was releasing the contents of a syringe into my neck. Before I could completely fade away, I saw Barbara Minerva, the fastest girl in that competition, leap at the poisonous bitch, retractable claws extended. I'm assuming they tussled around for a bit, and that Barbara must have gained the upper hand. She cared for me while I was out of it. If it hadn't been for her, I would've died."

"What happened to her?" asked Harley.

"Carol Ferris happened. Aside from how she was one of my competitors, it was the main reason why I offed her."

Harley gulped, deciding to take a risk. "Did you love her? Barbara, that is."

"I haven't been fortunate enough to find the girl for me. Not yet, anyways." Jack stared at her with a glint in his eyes as he said this.

"I'm sorry," whispered Harley, entwining his fingers with her in an attempt to comfort him.

"You know, Harley, I'm glad I met you. I don't think I ever met such a caring soul. That's why I'm deciding to show you something, something nobody else has ever seen. But, it has to be our little secret, alright?"

The ball was now in her court. She could either decline and go back to her room or she could follow him and strip away yet another layer of the complexity that was Jack White. If she went back to her room, she could pretend nothing happened. If she followed him, the secret she discovered could possibly kill her. Or, it would forge a stronger connection between her and the mysterious man.

Red wine forgotten, she slowly agreed to go with him. Carefully, he took her hands and led her to the doorway she had noticed earlier. As she padded along after him, she caught a glimpse of his immaculate bedroom. The clown doll that sat in the middle of the throne of pillows captured her attention, making her wonder why he was in the possession of such an item. Tucking it away at the back of her mind, she followed him up a ladder that had been concealed due to a bookshelf.

The secret room that the ladder had led to was a dark room, ideally used for photo development. However, that clearly wasn't the case. Plastered on bulletin boards were pictures of every official in Panem, ranging from Peacekeepers to the president to the Gamemakers. Clipped to clotheslines hung newspaper articles regarding every single past Hunger Games. In the corner was a rack that contained every film moment of the Hunger Games. Filing cabinets were positioned to the side of the trapdoor, presumably filled with files and documents. The creepiest things in the room, however, were the mutilated dolls that she assumed to be made to look like the country's officials.

"Oh, shit," she murmured under her breath. What had she just walked into?

* * *

Sorry for the two month delay, guys. I've been caught up with major projects, but updates should be posted much more quickly if all goes well. Anyhow, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter, which mainly focuses on Harley and the Joker (ahem, Jack). Thoughts on his origin story? Before I leave you guys, I'm curious: who's your favorite character so far in this story?

Thanks for reading!


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